


Godlike

by wocket



Category: Real Person Fiction, dylric - Fandom
Genre: Dubious Consent, Dylric, M/M, Recreational Drug Use, Underage Drinking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-01
Updated: 2019-03-01
Packaged: 2019-11-07 06:55:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,083
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17955713
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wocket/pseuds/wocket
Summary: A night at a rave kickstarts something more serious between Eric Harris and Dylan Klebold.





	Godlike

The weekend finally comes at last; sweet, blessed release from the halls of Columbine High School. Eric is thrilled. Dylan _should_ be thrilled, but he’s sitting on his bed with a brooding look on his face.

“What’s wrong?” Eric asks. “Tell me,” he demands, trying to bully him into answering.

Dylan shakes his head, not wanting to bother Eric with his thoughts.

“Fine,” Eric snaps. _Fuck him for trying, huh?_

Eric hands Dylan a handmade poster from his backpack. It’s an ad for Rock Island Rave in Denver, printed on neon green paper.

“I don’t have thirty bucks right now,” Dylan says, sullen. He hands the poster back to Eric.

“Nate’s brother is supposed to be able to get us in,” Eric says.

“Okay,” Dylan agrees. “I’ll try it.” Eric finally looks satisfied. “What am I supposed to wear?” Dylan asks, looking into his closet a few minutes later. He’s got on black BDUs and a white t-shirt. 

“Wear that,” Eric suggests. “But with a black shirt. And your boots.”

Dylan turns his back to Eric and strips off his shirt. Eric tries not to watch, but can’t help but be distracted by Dylan’s shoulderblades. They had been the same height up until about two years ago, when Dylan had sprouted almost five inches taller. His arms and legs were long, and his back pale and smooth. 

Eric manages to look away once he pulls a black t-shirt on over his head.

“How do I look?”

Eric looks up, surprised by the question, but Dylan tends to be insecure about his appearance. He looks his friend’s body up and down, taking advantage of the opportunity to do so without judgment. Dylan tucks the shirt in, eyes his waistline self-consciously, then untucks the shirt sheepishly.

“Killer.”

*

Dylan seems nervous while they wait in line outside the industrial-looking building, and it’s unclear whether it’s from anxiety about the rave or just worries about not even making it _in_ to the rave. Sure enough, Nate’s brother is working at the door with the bouncer. He pretends to cross their names off a list and shoos them inside before anyone’s the wiser.

Dylan doesn’t know what he expected, but this isn’t it. The room is dark and smoky. Lights suspended from the ceiling streak brilliantly across the room, changing with the beat of the trance music. 

Eric somehow manages to spot someone he knows, and before long, he’s whisked off to another corner of the club, leaving Dylan on his own to fend for himself. Feeling abandoned, Dylan leans against the back wall. Dylan studies the room, watching people dance and grind on each other. He puts his sunglasses on, feeling safer somehow.

A skinny young man almost as tall as Dylan glances at him and looks away. Then, mysteriously, he looks back, right at Dylan.

“You look lonely!”

Dylan turns to see if the guy meant someone standing beside him or behind him. There’s really nobody there that’s not part of the mass of bodies on the dance floor.

“What?” Dylan asks. The guy leans in close, and his lips brush against Dylan’s earring as he speaks.

“I said _you look lonely_ ,” he repeats with a smile. He has eyeliner rubbed around the edges of his eyes, and a kind face. He pulls back to stare at Dylan in a way that makes the taller boy swallow nervously and stare at the floor. “I’ll be your friend,” the guy says, and it startles Dylan so much that he looks up - right into the man’s dark eyes. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a baggie with two pills in it, dangling it between their bodies. 

Dylan looks hesitant.

“Don’t you want to have a good time?” 

As Dylan considers his options, the guy swallows one of the blue pills.

Dylan does want to have a good time. More than anything. So he reaches out and takes a pink pill. The guy hands him a silver flask that had been attached to his hip by fishnet stockings. Dylan takes a swig. He doesn’t recognize the liquid inside.

The guy - who is kind of attractive, although Dylan won’t let himself admit it - waits until Dylan mutters “woah” under his breath to tug him onto the dance floor. Dylan follows obediently. The lights suddenly seem brighter, and the music louder, better somehow. Dylan doesn’t recognize the music; it’s some thudding techno beat with the bass turned all the way up. 

The guy doesn’t get too handsy, thank God, so Dylan tries to mimic his movements. He doesn’t have the easy sway the other young man does, always so worried about the way he looks. 

Dylan soon enough realizes that everybody seems lost in their own world. There’s kids dressed like… well, kids, in bright rainbow colors and colorful socks and jewelry. There are cage dancers and sweaty shirtless guys, and girls dressed in sexy clothing, ripped fishnets and bikini tops. Then there’s people dressed sort of like Dylan, goths in black platform boots with buckles and zippers all over their clothes. Some of them have collars around their necks. About half of the room seems to be drunk or on some kind of substance, now that he thinks about it. Finally a song comes on that Dylan recognizes, and he closes his eyes, moving to the music. 

Two songs later, Dylan feels something. He opens his eyes and the room spins. He sees the guy sliding a bracelet over Dylan’s wrist.

“What’s your name?” Dylan shouts above the music. 

The guy puts a finger to his lips and disappears into the crowd.

*

After what feels like half an hour, Eric finds Dylan. The pill Dylan had been given - whatever it had been - was really starting to kick in. 

Dylan spins around twice. The lights are blue, then green, then silver. Dylan finds it hard to focus on Eric, which drives Eric nuts. The music is loud, almost overbearing, and he sinks back against the wall. He takes a deep heaving breath, staring at the floor. He closes his eyes.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Eric asks. “I can’t leave you alone for a second,” Eric gripes, realizing Dylan’s out of his mind on something. “Wait here.”

When Eric returns he’s holding a bottle of water. He unscrews the cap for Dylan, offering the bottle to him.

“Thanks,” Dylan manages to get out. He downs half of the bottle’s contents, leaning against the wall.

“Are you gonna make it?” Eric plucks Dylan’s sunglasses from his face, leaning in close to check his pupils. They’re blown. “God damn.”

They stay just long enough for Eric to get a feel for the place too, surveilling the room from Dylan’s post at the back wall. When Dylan leans back and closes his eyes, Eric knows it’s time to get him out. He grabs Dylan’s hand to lead him out of the club. Eric drops his hand once they’re outside, looking over his shoulder nervously.

It’s a short walk to Dylan’s car, which is on the top floor of a parking garage down the street.

Dylan fumbles with his keys, heading for the driver’s side of his BMW. Eric intercepts him, snatching the keys from his hand. He shakes his head and points to the other side of the car. There’s no way he’s letting Dylan drive like this.

Once they’re safely in Dylan’s car with Eric behnid the wheel, Eric pauses to steal a glance at Dylan. Eric tries to hide his gaze, but Dylan stares back openly, more confident from the substances in his system.

“Fuck it. Come on, Dylan,” Eric says, starting the car.

“Put some music on?” Dylan asks hopefully. Eric can’t deny him anything. He throws on a Chemical Brothers CD as he takes 85 south back toward Littleton. He rolls down the windows, letting the cool air surround them.

As the beat thumps, Eric taps his fingers on the side of the car.

“Do we have to go back yet?” Dylan asks woefully when he starts to recognize the familiar landmarks of their town. “Can we drive around just a little longer?”

“Sure thing, Major Tom,” Eric says with a mock salute.

Dylan watches Eric drive, studying the way his knuckles rest on top of the steering wheel. They do a loop through town and Dylan watches familiar sights with new eyes. Things he’s seen a million times somehow seem fresh and unusual.

Eric pulls into an empty lot and cuts the lights. He thinks they’re just going to sit there in the car, but Dylan gets out and sits on the hood of the car before Eric can stop him. Eric turns the car off and follows him.

The moon is full, suspended in the dark sky above them. It’s a clear night, no clouds, and they can see the stars. 

“It’s so nice out,” Dylan remarks. It’s cool but not cold; the air is starting to warm up as winter melts into spring. 

“Feeling better?” Eric asks. Dylan blushes. He turns his face to the side, hoping Eric can’t see him in the dark.

“Yeah. There were just a lot of people in there,” he says, remembering how claustrophobic it had felt with people closing in on every side.

“Yeah.”

Dylan doesn’t say much else, so Eric doesn’t either. Dylan lies back on the hood and Eric follows his lead. They’ve never just sat and watched the stars before. It seems like the kind of thing you’d do with a girl. So Eric doesn’t say anything, but does point out a shooting star wordlessly.

Dylan chain smokes three cigarettes in a row, stealing one from Eric when his pack is regrettably empty.

After Dylan seems to have settled, Eric nudges Dylan. “You ready, V?” They slide off the hood of the car and pile back into the BMW.

Dylan starts to protest when Eric pulls up in his own driveway. “I can’t take you home like this,” he insists. Why couldn’t Dylan understand that he was looking out for him? He never did.

As Dylan relents, Eric leads him inside the house and down the stairs, pushing him onto the sofa in the basement. “Just chill,” he tells him. 

Eric fools around, putting on some music. He turns the volume as loud as it will go without disturbing his parents. He drinks something out of his own flask, occasionally stopping to watch Dylan.

Dylan shuts his eyes and makes a low hum under his breath. “I don’t feel so good,” he says.

“You’re coming down, genius,” Eric tells him. “Fuck, I can’t believe you tripped or rolled or whatever the fuck without me.”

Dylan wants to tell him it’s his own fault for leaving. He scratches his forearms. Eric watches him carefully. “Relax. Take off your shoes.” After watching Dylan fidget uncomfortably, Eric takes a spot beside him on the couch. He tugs at the sleeve of Dylan’s black t-shirt. “Down,” he says firmly.

Dylan obeys, drawing his knees up tight and putting his head in Eric’s lap (much to Eric’s surprise). Eric’s pulse picks up, a pattering rhythm under his skin.

Eric runs his fingers through Dylan’s hair messily, hoping Dylan will calm down. After a few minutes, his hands get bolder, skimming down Dylan’s neck and sweeping over his shoulders. A strange thing happens. Dylan, who would normally shy away at anyone’s touch, starts to warm up, and actually starts to look like he’s enjoying himself. He seems to want Eric’s stray touches, moving into them and nudging Eric whenever he stops.

“Feels good,” Dylan mumbles. Eric touches him with purpose now, watching Dylan’s face cautiously as he moves a hand down his side. Dylan leans into his hand.

After a few minutes of letting Eric’s hands wander, Dylan sits up, looking at his best friend with wide eyes. They kneel, facing each other.

Who knows who makes the first move; it just seems to happen. Before long, Eric’s hand is tangled in Dylan’s blonde hair, tugging his head down for a deep kiss. Dylan tilts his head and the angle becomes _perfect_.

Eric usually has that fuck-you glare on his face, but his features soften a little with Dylan in his arms. “Are you sure this is okay?”

“Fuck yeah,” Dylan says under his breath. So Eric leans in again, tasting Dylan, finding out what it’s like to be kissed by him. It makes his heart pound.

Dylan pulls his shirt off and throws it to the floor. He might be fucked up but he’s looking at Eric with piercing intensity.

Eric doesn’t really know what he’s doing but thinks it might be worth learning, as he slips his tongue back into Dylan’s mouth. His hands roam up and down Dylan’s arms, feeling the hard line of his muscles. Dylan tastes like candy and cigarettes.

Eventually their positions get uncomfortable as their knees start to burn. 

“You wanna lie down?” Eric asks. Dylan nods, looking at the sofa and trying to figure out how they’re going to do this. They lay down side by side, heads on the armrest, adjusting themselves. It’s not quite right, and they only spend a moment trying to kiss before Eric decides to switch up their position again. Eric bravely takes Dylan’s hips in his hands and swings them around so that he’s lying underneath Dylan.

Dylan looks down and licks his lips. “Hey,” he says, slotting a knee in between Eric’s thighs.

“Hi.”

Newly confident from Eric letting him occupy a seemingly dominant position, Dylan leans his head down low and captures Eric’s mouth in a hungry kiss. Dylan slips his tongue in Eric’s mouth.

After a few minutes of making out, Eric realizes Dylan is straining to hold himself up, his hands braced on either side of Eric’s head. He sinks a little lower, and Eric chuckles. Before he can change his mind, Eric slips his hands onto Dylan’s waist and tugs him down the rest of the way. 

Dylan lets out the breath he’s been holding when their hips collide. Eric’s hands are shy, but it gives Dylan the push he needs to lean his weight on one elbow so that he can touch Eric’s shoulder with his free hand. He doesn’t know what he’s doing, and his touches are experimental and uncertain. Eric’s touch lulls Dylan into comfort as his thumbs rub little circles over Dylan’s hips. 

Eric tentatively slides one of his palms over Dylan’s back, up his spine and over his shoulderblades. His pale skin is smooth. Eric digs his nails into the skin, leaving red scratches across his back. Dylan hisses, but surges forward with renewed energy.

“This is so fucking hot, dude.”

Dylan’s hands are cold on Eric’s skin. He shivers at the frozen touch. Eric wants more, wants to go further, despite Dylan feeling like he could carry on kissing forever. He reaches out with unsteady hands.

The clink of Dylan’s belt buckle sounds unbearably loud in the quiet room. The only noises are their breaths trapped between their bodies and the rustling of their clothing as they discared them. Both boys are too frightened to speak. This is new, so new. Eric moves so slowly that Dylan thinks he might die. 

Eric is hesitant, watching Dylan gasp when he wraps his fingers around his dick. He smirks at the sound, pleased by his reaction.

Eric reaches down and palms his crotch, grinding the heel of his palm against the zipper of his pants. Dylan nods at him expectantly and he unzips them, pulling out his own dick. He swallows, trying not to compare it to Dylan’s but unable to help it. Dylan is just a little bit longer, but not as thick. When he sees Dylan staring down between them too, albeit a little more hungrily, he takes Dylan’s hand and places it on his own dick. 

He looks surprised, but Eric takes Dylan in hand, running his fingers up and down his member before starting to jerk him off. Dylan follows his lead. 

Dylan tries to match Eric’s pace. Eric looks focused, watching the sweat build on Dylan’s chest as they work each other’s cocks. Squeezing Eric in his fingers, Dylan ducks forward for another sloppy kiss. Eric bites Dylan’s lip and Dylan responds by rubbing his thumb over the head of Eric’s dick, jacking him faster and faster until he comes over Dylan’s fist. 

Eric takes a moment to catch his breath before sliding his hand lower to cup Dylan’s balls. A barely formed sigh leaves Dylan’s mouth. Inspired, Eric pushes up on his shoulders so that he’ll sit up. Dylan starts to climb off him, thinking Eric wants him to stop, but Eric holds him in place with hands on his hipbones. 

“Sit,” he commands, digging the fingers of his left hand into Dylan’s hip and continuing to jerk him off with the right one. He works, adroit, making clever flicks of his wrist that make Dylan’s insides turn to jelly. After teasing him - but delivering - Eric makes Dylan come all over his hand and stomach.

Dylan reaches down to his hip and feels the little half-moon shapes that Eric’s fingernails left in his skin. Eric had dug his nails in hard enough to almost draw blood.

Eric tears off his shirt and balls it up. He throws it into the corner. “Let’s sleep in my bed,” Eric says. Now that the passion was subsiding, he was realizing that the couch probably wasn’t the most comfortable spot for two gangly young boys, despite their earlier activities. 

He pretends not to watch as Dylan quietly throws his shirt back on.

*

Monday morning is just like any other Monday. Eric wakes up and drives to school, parking in his assigned space. He’s still waking up as he opens up his locker. Dylan is missing, but Eric just assumes he’s meeting with a teacher, maybe saying hello to Nate or Zach. Eric forgets about it and goes to class.

That afternoon, he finally catches up to Dylan in the hallway. Dylan acts like he doesn’t see Eric at first, looking past him instead of _at_ him, and making a show of it. Dylan totally ignores him, leaving Eric confused and angry. 

Eric figures out that Dylan is more than just uncomfortable, he’s _upset_ when he attempts to follow Dylan to his car after school lets out. Dylan levels his gaze at Eric, looking at him like he never has before; looking at him the way his parents did after he did something they found to be problematic. Dylan’s whole body seems to react; it’s like he’s put up a shield. The easy body language that Dylan normally has around him is gone, and his facial expression just looks raw. Eric is not used to Dylan’s rage being directed at him; the energy he’s putting out is nothing but cold. It makes Eric stop in his tracks, having that look directed straight at him. Eric is so stunned at Dylan’s body language that he fails to say anything.

Dylan gets in the car and drives off, leaving Eric standing alone in the parking lot.

*

Eric assumes Dylan is angry, sure, but doesn’t really put two and two together until he runs into his friend again and gets the same look. “I’m busy,” he says quietly. Eric doesn’t know what the fuck to do with that. 

“I need to talk to you,” Eric tells him urgently.

Dylan finally acquiesces and agrees to talk to him. Eric checks the doors of several classrooms. The first doesn’t budge, but the second door is unlocked. Eric pulls his friend into the empty classroom.

Eric sits down on a desk. Dylan is quiet, too quiet. He stands before Eric, hands shoved into his pockets. Eric’s not short by any means, but Dylan seems to completely tower over him at this moment.

“I don’t know what the fuck you want from me, Dylan.” Eric complains.

“Not as much as you wanted from me, apparently.”

“What are you talking about, dude? You were there. You were there with me one hundred percent.”

“I was on something, dude. I don’t even know what the hell it was.”

Eric doesn’t know what to say to that. He can’t deny it even though he wants to.

“Fine; I fucked up,” Eric shouts. He balls his hands into fists and pushes them into his eyes. “I thought you were into it,” Eric says. His voice is strangled. He feels like he’s violating the unwritten terms of whatever happened between them by speaking of it out loud. “I’m not… I didn’t…” He takes a moment to think carefully about what he’s going to say next. “I wouldn’t have been into it if you weren’t.”

“Yeah,” Dylan says, and it’s a frustrating answer because he’s still not looking at Eric’s face. Eric has no idea what he’s saying yes to. Dylan won’t look at him and Eric feels his heart sinking lower and lower into his chest cavity.

“I’m sorry,” Eric continues, and Dylan can’t remember ever hearing those words come out of Eric’s mouth before. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he repeats, unable to stop the flood of words from leaving his mouth. His anger builds as he speaks. He’s grinding his teeth and his shoulders are tense and he wants the ground to swallow him up whole. “I’ve gotta go,” he says, before he can blow up, storming out of the room.

*

Eric drives to Dylan’s house on Friday afternoon after school lets out. He doesn’t quite follow him home, but arrives about two minutes after he does, while Dylan is still standing in the driveway with his backpack.

Eric parks behind his BMW. He takes a deep breath before getting out of his car. Dylan turns to face him when he hears the door slam.

“What the fuck are you doing here?”

Eric puts his hands in the air. “I can’t talk to you?”

“You shouldn’t be here right now, Eric.”

“Why not?”

“You took advantage of me.” The words are hollow and quiet compared to Eric’s fiery outbursts.

Eric catches a glimpse of Dylan’s mother watching from one of the picture windows. She turns her head, noticing she’s been caught. Eric takes a step to the side so that nobody could see his mouth moving except Dylan.

“You think that’s who I am?” Eric accuses in an attempt to defend himself, even though a part of himself is thinking _fuck, this might be who I am. I am a bad person_. 

“What? A fuckin’ faggot?”

Eric clenches his hand into a fist. He couldn’t believe it. 

Dylan sneers. “Go home, Eric.”

*

On Saturday, in a fit of anger, Eric sends Dylan an e-mail.

_VoDkA~_

_This is so DAMN stupid and you FUCKIN know it!!!_

_I apologized which you should know i never do. I don’t believe in it. But you wanna argue like a fuckn idiot. Talk to me…_

_I miss you, asshole_

_-REB-_

*

Eric manages to go the whole school day without seeing Dylan. He suspects the other boy does it on purpose when he suddenly appears after classes, looking pensive.

“Let’s drive out to the Canyon,” Dylan suggests. They used to hike there during the summers, but hadn’t been back in some time. 

_Eric and Dylan tried camping overnight in the Deer Creek Canyon once during middle school, setting up a tent with a beautiful view, but the cougars screamed in the dark of the night, frightening poor Dylan half to death. Eric sat up with him as they waited for Dylan’s parents to pick them up in the morning, moving their sleeping bags closer when Dylan huddled and pulled his knees to his chest. “I’ll keep you safe,” Eric had whispered. When that hadn’t worked, he grabbed Dylan’s hand without missing a beat. “You just gotta scare them off,” he said confidently. “I’d shoot it with a .223 Remington. Two shots into the shoulder.”_

_“But you don’t have one,” Dylan pointed out._

_“So I’ll scare it myself,” Eric boasted. Dylan looked unsure, but Eric just squeezed his hand. “I won’t let anything get to you,” he promised._

Eric agrees to go with him to the Canyon and meets him in the parking lot. It’s a twenty minute drive from school to the mesa before Dylan’s house, a familiar drive that feels strange due to their shared silence.

“I don’t want to fight,” Dylan says.

 _Fucking finally_ , Eric thinks, but he holds his tongue and waits for Dylan to continue. He doesn’t.

“What the fuck happened to you anyway?” Eric can’t help himself from asking. Dylan doesn’t answer.

“I miss you,” Dylan finally tells Eric in the car when they reach the peak after a winding drive. To Dylan, Eric was a god, something he’d never be able to resist. “I shouldn’t have freaked out.”

“Shut up,” Eric says bitterly, feeling stupid just hearing Dylan say that. He looks out the window at the foothills, remembering a different time, remembering flashlights and scary stories and Dylan’s small, cold hand nestled in his own on a summer night long ago. “I didn’t keep my promise,” he says. “I fucked up.” He frowns. “You remember that time we camped out here?”

Dylan did, surprised that Eric conjures the memory just as easily as he does. They’d borrowed a two-person tent and Dylan’s mom had packed sandwiches and Oreos for them, with a strict warning to keep them inside a cooler. “Yeah? So?”

“You were terrified that something was going to get you. I said I’d protect you and I didn’t. I said I wouldn’t let anything hurt you.”

Dylan looks at his friend, who’s feeling like he’s the one Dylan needs protection from. There’s so much angst written on his face that Dylan turns his head to give Eric some privacy.

“I think it’s complicated,” Dylan says, and he leaves it at that.

*

It had taken Dylan some time to warm up to Eric again, and this was the first night things had really started feeling normal again. They’d gone to the bowling alley with Zach; Dylan still seemed hesitant to spend time alone with Eric, which made Eric feel rotten.

Eric had turned to leave at the end of the night but surprisingly Dylan stops him with a hand on his shoulder. “Can I get a ride?”

Eric nods, unsure of how to read any of the signals Dylan was putting out.

They dash to Eric’s car in the pouring rain. It’s parked in a dark corner of the parking lot behind the bowling alley. Soaked, they climb inside.

Rain drops steadily onto the roof of the car and streams down the windows. The splashes the raindrops make are loud enough to echo inside the car.

The hair on Dylan’s arms stands up. He tries to wipe the water off his body, grabbing some napkins stashed in Eric’s glovebox. He’s cold but good-natured about it, enjoying the moment. The rain only seems to make Eric frustrated.

Dylan tries to look out the windshield but the rain is so thick he can’t see a thing. “Let’s just wait it out,” he suggests.

“I guess,” he agrees, resigned.

Dylan browses through Eric’s black CD case. He slides in a mix CD that he finds in the back of the case and leans his head against the window.

Eric shakes his knee, shaking him out of his daydream. “How you feelin’, Vodka?”

Dylan looks at him, then away, then back to him when he realizes there’s nothing else to look at. “Lost.”

“You’re freaking me out, man. What are you thinking about?”

“You don’t want to know.”

“Try me,” Eric says, and miraculously, Dylan does exactly as he says. Dylan ducks his head to press a kiss onto Eric’s mouth. Eric responds at first, naturally, then remembers the harsh words Dylan had leveled at him the other day.

“But what about…” Eric doesn’t know how to describe the situation between them earlier. He sits on his hands. “I thought you didn’t like me anymore,” Eric snaps. 

Dylan licks his lips. “I’m not on anything, or drunk, or whatever.”

“So you want to try…” Eric motions between them. “Fuck, V, I don’t get you sometimes,” Eric says.

“Shut up and come here.” Eric is kind of turned on by Dylan taking charge the way he is. This time he’s grabbier, more urgent. “I’m not a fag,” he says under his breath. “But this… it’s complicated. I hate myself because I think I do want this.”

Hearing that Dylan does indeed want this is all the prompting Eric needs to take his angular jaw in the palm of his hand and kiss him.

Dylan leans the seat back and lies down. Eric hops the center console and climbs onto Dylan’s lap, pulling Dylan’s hat off his head and tossing it into the backseat. Eric settles one knee on either side of Dylan’s hips so he can lean down and kiss his friend. His left hand clings to the collar of Dylan’s KMFDM shirt, knuckles turning white. 

Dylan runs his hands down Eric’s arms but his flannel is wet from the rain. Boldly, Dylan pushes it off his shoulders. He drops his hands onto Eric’s thighs to keep him still so Eric can take the flannel off the rest of the way.

Eric pauses, looking down at his friend. 

“What?” Dylan asks self-consciously.

“Nothing. I… you’re so fucking cool, Dylan, but I never expected this. You know?”

Dylan squints. “Maybe don’t worry about what this means right now and just kiss me.”

“Okay. You win.” When Eric puts his hand on the back of Dylan’s neck, he can feel raindrops in his hair. His mouth tastes like rain.

They make out until Eric gets a cramp in his thigh. Dylan laughs, an affectionate sound that he tries to cover as he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. 

Eric sighs and heaves himself back into the driver’s seat. The rain has long since stopped, he realizes. He puts the keys in the ignition and starts the car.

*

By the next weekend, they start spending time with each other again, less worried about treading lightly. Eric pulls his Prelude into a gas station car wash after school. After paying and pulling up, the water starts streaming against the sides of the car and soap suds fly everywhere. Rubber flaps beat against the windows.

Eric looks out the windshield, and satisfied that the car wash is obscuring the windows enough, decides to make Dylan kiss him. With a hand on his neck he steers him into a lip-lock, tongue and all. 

Dylan turns pink, still unaccustomed to Eric’s charm when dialed all the way up. He kisses him back without hesitation, shaking a little when a new brush hits the window behind him.

Without looking Eric reaches a hand out and turns up the stereo.

*

Spring makes everything feel new. Eric comes to love the sunlight in Dylan’s hair.

Their lives don’t change — much. Sure, Eric kisses Dylan whenever he wants to, now. Sometimes it’s a surprise and sometimes Dylan knows it’s coming when he recognizes that look on Eric’s face that says _I’m going to swallow you whole_. 

Dylan smiles every time Eric forks over an extra dollar or two at the gas station for his Icee. It’s a small gesture, but coming from Eric it’s huge. They’re something like boyfriends now, and feeling like he has what everybody else wants sends a tiny thrill into the pit of Dylan’s stomach.

As they learn to navigate these new roles, Eric and Dylan try out new things, different things, some of which they like, and some of which they can leave behind altogether. Dylan tries holding Eric’s hand in the car one day, but it’s clammy and it feels like they’re trying too hard for an everyday occasion.

What Dylan doesn’t mind, however (and secretly loves), is lying side by side with Eric in his narrow bed, so close their sides are touching, pressed together from their shoulders all the way down to their ankles. Eric is always warm where he’s pressed against Dylan, and though sometimes they don’t say anything at all, Dylan is delighted by the closeness.

*

The sun has long since disappeared behind the red rocks nestling Dylan’s home. Dylan’s parents have gone to dinner in the city, leaving Eric and Dylan kings of the castle.

Dylan fidgets with his Zippo after lighting a cigarette.

Eric snags the cigarette from Dylan’s lips so he can lean up and press a kiss to Dylan’s mouth. The cigarette burns in his hand, forgotten, while they kiss, Eric’s other hand splayed on Dylan’s chest. Dylan’s mouth is soft, and Eric has been starting to take advantage of every opportunity to get his hands on his friend, who now had become so much more than that.

The porch lights turn on suddenly, illuminating the backyard, and the boys break apart. Eric drops the cigarette out of habit, crushing it under his foot. It must be Dylan's parents getting home from dinner.

A moment later, Dylan’s father appears. He stares at them with a long look that Eric finds uncomfortable.

“It’s getting late, boys,” Tom tells them, leaving them to extrapolate the rest.

Dylan walks Eric to his car, leaning against the frame and into the open window. He wants to give him a hug or a kiss or something, but he’s too paranoid that someone’s watching from the large front windows of the house.

When he walks back inside, he sees Tom and Sue talking at the top of the stairs. They pause to glance at their son, concerned looks on their faces.

Dylan tries to ignore them, but he can’t get it out of his mind for weeks.

*

“You think he saw us,” Eric muses.

“I don’t think it matters. He’s too chickenshit to say anything,” Dylan remarks.

“I can’t have _one_ thing for myself?” Eric says, sour. Dylan doesn’t know if he means _this_ or him or what but a shiver runs down his spine.

Dylan feels humiliated just thinking about his parents catching him with Eric Harris, so he buries his feelings in a make-out session with the aforementioned character. 

Eric suddenly has a handful of his best friend. Eric bites that spot on Dylan’s neck that drives him wild. He can’t leave a mark, at least not where it’s visible. He hooks a finger in the collar of Dylan’s shirt and pulls it down an inch so he can suck a bruise just below Dylan’s collarbone.

Later that week, Dylan finds a box of condoms in his room, and he’s mortified. He tells Eric about it over pizza, since he wants to be anywhere else but his house.

Eric looks over Dylan’s shoulder to make sure nobody can hear their conversation.

“You think it was your dad?”

“Hell no,” Dylan says. “Definitely my mom.” He shakes his head. “Fuck.”

It strikes Dylan that they haven’t had real sex yet, even though his parents obviously think so and he ends the conversation by shoving a slice of pepperoni pizza in his mouth.

*

The summer burns with their young love. 

Embarrassed as he may be about whatever his parents may or may not know, Dylan still doodles Eric’s name in his journal in between depressed ramblings. He starts experimenting with the word _bisexual_ , trying it on for size. There were already enough labels thrust upon Dylan that he didn’t care for - _delinquent_ , _nerd_ , _faggot_ \- but this particular word makes him curious.

Eric finds great reward in finding ways to make Dylan smile every chance he gets. He varies between being a gentleman and an asshole; Dylan never knows what he’ll be on the receiving end of.

Dylan’s exhausted after pulling an all-nighter. Eric wraps his arms around the other boy from behind, kissing his neck, trying his usual tricks. Dylan warms at Eric’s friendly touches, knowing it’s just his way of trying to make him feel better. Eric slides a hand underneath his shirt, gently scratching Dylan’s skin with his fingernails. It sends a shiver down Dylan’s spine and he leans into the touch. Eric keeps it up when he notices it has a calming effect on Dylan.

Horny, Eric gropes Dylan’s thigh. He moves his hand to Dylan’s crotch after Dylan doesn’t resist.

Eric peers at him and wiggles his head a little. He bites his lip, giving Dylan that enthusiastic face he makes when he wants to fool around before moving to unzip Dylan’s pants.

Eric pulls Dylan’s dick out of his boxers. He licks his palm and gives Dylan a few pumps before making Dylan lie back on the bed. Dylan bends his knees and Eric crawls between them.

Eric never thought he’d like giving a blowjob, but he finds a strange power in it. He loves seeing Dylan spread out with his head thrown back, hair a tangled mess. He finds more power in getting Dylan to make desperate, drawn out sounds than he imagines he would with Dylan doing the same for him (although it’s something they’ll have to try). Knowing he can make Dylan lose control is a rush, and he experiments with ways to test Dylan’s inhibitions.

Eric sits up for a moment, reaching for Dylan’s pants and yanking them off.

Knowing Dylan’s parents are gone - and will be for the rest of the evening - Eric starts working twice as hard to make Dylan beg.

He slides a finger up past Dylan’s balls and keeps moving, running his finger over Dylan’s hole. He bites Dylan’s thigh as he breaches the rim with the tip of his finger. Dylan tenses for a brief second but doesn’t fight, so Eric keeps moving, sucking Dylan’s cock back down, trying to deep throat him.

He lets out a noise somewhere between a gasp and a whimper, and Eric starts thrusting his finger in and out. He keeps up both motions until Dylan’s about to release. 

Eric sits back on his haunches, grinning, thinking he’s done with his work until Dylan catches his wrist with a needy look. Eric thinks he knows what he means but can’t be sure.

“Ask me,” Eric says, kissing Dylan’s neck.

“Don’t be mean,” Dylan says, embarrassed.

“I’m not being mean,” Eric says, shaking his head. He brushes his lips against Dylan’s jaw in a barely-there kiss, and Dylan suddenly realizes what he means. 

Dylan sits up and digs around in his nightstand for the box of condoms, hoping that’s enough of a signal for him. He tosses the box to Eric, who asks “Are you sure?”

Dylan nods. 

Eric makes him lie back down so he can stretch him open further. Eric doesn’t really know what he’s doing, but he’s seen enough porn to guess. He opens him up with one finger, then two, and by the time he’s ready for the third Eric is about to come in his pants.

“You ready?” Eric asks. He tears open a foil packet and slides on a condom.

Eric hovers over Dylan’s body, taking both of Dylan’s wrists and placing them above his head. Eric takes a good look before kissing him deeply, maybe more of a romantic than he lets on. 

Eric guides his cock into Dylan’s ass, and he tries to hold back the shudder that quakes throughout his body. Dylan screws his eyes shut as Eric pushes in all the way. He holds still for a moment after, just feeling connected in a way that he never had before. 

Maybe he pauses for longer than he thought, because Dylan is shaking his bicep and asking him to move. Eric starts thrusting, pushing forward, and he thought he knew power but he was wrong. Dylan is hot and tight and wanting, making breathy noises that are barely human sounds. Dylan reaches for Eric’s hand just to have something to grab at. Eric squeezes it, but pulls it away so he can grab Dylan’s hips. He thrusts harder as Dylan tries to grind against him.

Dylan reaches down to touch his dick, which is hard and leaking at all of Eric’s attention. Close to coming, he strokes it a few times. Eric reaches down with a sweaty hand to help Dylan jerk off, this time allowing it when Dylan threads their fingers together.

Eric comes first, thrusting into Dylan with an uneven rhythm. He pulls out and sits on his knees, stripping off the condom and tossing it into the garbage. He looks at Dylan hungrily, who still has his hand on his dick. “Come on,” Eric encourages, and Dylan finishes himself off with a groan under Eric's attentive gaze.

Dylan wants to spend some time just taking the moment in, but the fear of someone coming back to the house was too strong for them both. Eric pulls on one of Dylan’s t-shirts with a wink. 

While Dylan is getting dressed, Eric roots around for Dylan’s secret stash of vodka. He takes a hefty swig from Dylan’s flask, the same one he had gifted Dylan for his birthday. He passes it to Dylan, who takes an even bigger swig.

Eric at least hugs him once they’re both dressed, resting his chin on Dylan’s shoulder. He plants a sloppy kiss on Dylan’s cheek, oxytocin flooding his system.

Neither one seems finished touching the other, nor do they have much interest in facing Dylan's parents, so they take Eric’s car out to the Canyon again before Dylan’s parents get home.

Dylan tries to sit on the hood of the car and smoke a cigarette, but Eric shakes his head.

“Follow me,” he says. 

The boys hike to the top of the lookout. Downtown Denver twinkles in the distance. The red rocks turn the shade of blood at sunset.

Eric sits with Dylan on a rock until the color fades from the sky. A cougar shrieks, an ugly howling sound that bounces off the rocks, and they’re both reminded of why they hate this place. 

Without moving, Dylan slips his hand into Eric’s, something that comes a lot easier than it used to. Feeling fearless, Dylan’s simply not afraid anymore, not with Eric next to him. Eric’s hand closes around his and Dylan decides that as long as Eric is by his side, he’ll never let himself feel that kind of fear again.


End file.
